Papa Hamish, barrel-chested and sporting a garish lei, leads a conga line, his deep laugh booming above the music. Mama Petunia, with a wide-brimmed straw hat and sharp eyes, arranges platters with military precision, occasionally barking playful orders at her brood. Crispin, the clever eldest son, slicks back his pink hair and glances anxiously at the entrance. Lulu, the youngest piglet, twirls with abandon, her giggles harmonizing with the music. Wolfgang the Wolf, portly and ruddy-faced, stumbles onto the scene, a bottle of rum clutched in one paw, sunglasses perched crookedly on his snout.

Wolfgang the Wolf[/@ch_5] swaggers into the party, his breath thick with rum and bravado. Pigs pause mid-dance, exchanging wary but sly glances. Tiki torches flicker, casting elongated shadows as the wolf lurches toward the buffet.] "Now, this is what I call a party! Mind if I—hic—join in? Smells delicious," "Why, of course, friend! The more, the merrier," Mama Petunia arches an eyebrow, quickly signaling to Crispin and Lulu, who scurry to fetch spices and a suspiciously large apple. "Please, have a seat. You look famished. Let us treat you with our... hospitality," "Don't mind if I do! Got any more of that punch? And what's that heavenly aroma?"

Wolfgang[/@ch_5] with practiced efficiency, draping him with leis, massaging his shoulders, and offering him ever-stronger drinks. The fire pit blazes brighter, casting a golden hue on the proceedings. Wolfgang grins, oblivious, as Crispin sharpens a skewer behind his back.] "Here, try this special marinade—family recipe. Just relax and let us pamper you," "You pigs sure know how to show a wolf a good time! Not like those stuffy goats uptown, always bleating about etiquette," "We pride ourselves on making all our guests feel... tender," Lulu places a pineapple ring atop Wolfgang's head, giggling. "Aww, aren't you a sweet little thing. Say, why's everyone looking at me like that?"

Wolfgang[/@ch_5] closer to the fire pit, tightening the circle. The festive music grows tense, ukuleles strumming off-key as Wolfgang blinks, confusion dawning. Sweat beads on his brow as Papa Hamish brandishes a basting brush with a sinister flourish.] "Just a touch of glaze, old sport. You want to look your best for supper," "Wait, supper? But—I'm the guest!" "Exactly. Tonight, you're the guest of honor," "Now hold on—let's not be hasty! I'm not even that tasty, really. Bit gamey, if you ask me!" "Nonsense. You're marinating beautifully,"

Wolfgang[/@ch_5] squirms, but the pigs, united and grinning, tie him to the spit with festive ribbons. The crowd erupts in laughter, clinking coconuts as the fire roars. Wolfgang pleads, but the pigs harmonize in a cheerful luau song, drowning him out.] "Please, can't we talk about this? I brought dessert! You don't want to eat me—I'm all fur and bad habits!" "Don't worry, we'll trim the fur," "A round of applause for our main course, everyone!" The pigs dance merrily around the spit, tossing flower petals into the fire as the aroma grows mouthwatering.

"To family—may we always stick together," "And to cleverness. No wolf will ever get the better of us," "Or out-eat us!" Papa Hamish raises his mug, pride swelling in his chest as the pigs share a victorious, heartfelt toast, their unity stronger than ever.